Pre movie.
The knights follow through on what they think is a routine mission….it turns out to be anything but.
Rated R for language, possible future slash.
Enjoy!
BTW, no insult intended to any druids. I just used them because I wanted to. All characterizations are courtesy of me alone.

We arrived back at the Wall at dawn.

Deathly silent, the fort was woken by our clattering horsehoves, and the squires were ready to receive us by the time we got to the courtyard nearest the stables.

I slid from my horse messily, and removed my bedding and gear as fast as my trembling fingers would allow me to.

I began to stride off, when he called for me.

"Lancelot."

I flung my reins at a young boy tending to my horse's injured flank, and stalked away, not even looking at him.

The quiet of my rooms was looking quite inviting at present.

"Lancelot, wait!" came drifting to me. I ignored it, and the last things I heard before entering the main body of the fort were "Let him go, Arthur."

Dagonet, of course. Forever the peacemaker.

Well, he would learn quickly enough that was a thankless role. I should know.

I practically tore my door off its hinges, and dropped my travel gear wherever it would land.

My gauntlets and breastplate made a satisfying ting sound against the stone, and I huffed out a breath, not bothering to remove my boots or heavy leather trousers.

That bastard. Bastard! What right had he to judge me? Of all people?

I know you best of anyone, Arthur. And you dare to question my judgement?

I hurled my bruised body into the high window of my room, a tiny space I had immediately used as a seat the second I saw it. Having to get used to Roman living, especially when one was so used to wagons and the sky overhead, was disconcerting at best.

Thus, window seat a la Sarmatian knight.

I closed my eyes, and waited. I knew it wouldn't take long.

And it didn't. Barely a half hour after we had arrived, the knock came at door.

"What," I yelled out, even though I knew who it was.

The door creaked, and I started as Dagonet's bald head came into view.

"Nice way of answering," he stated, in his plain voice. I gaped at him.

"What are you – " I stared. I cleared my throat. "I mean, yes?"

"You're requested in the great hall," he said, and I sighed, tipping my head back.

"Tell him," I said, then decided against the profanity I was about to use, "…I'll be there."

Dagonet nodded, and withdrew.

"Blast it," I muttered, and pouted, even though there was no one to react to it.

I leaped down from the window, determined to take as long a time as possible getting there.

Tugging off my boots, I kicked off my pants, and pulled on some deerskin trousers that were a lot more comfortable. Shoving my feet back into my muddy riding boots, I hesitated, then added the lion pendant that was hidden inside my desk drawer. I tucked it under my shirt, and proceded through the door, slamming it unintentionally.

The others were already there when I entered the large room, which was dominated by one piece of furniture.

The round table.

In order for men to men, they must first be equal.

I frowned, and made my way to my normal place, next to Arthur. He tried to catch my eye, but I didn't look at him, merely slinging myself into my seat, gulping some of the wine that was in a goblet there waiting for me.

Bors made a rude noise when I happened to glance at him, and I made an unkind gesture back. He laughed, and the others joined him. That broke the ice, and Arthur stood.

"Knights," he started, as I knew he would, "Despite recent events, and some injuries, the garrison superiors have decided to give us a few days leave. I want each and every one of you to take three days, and relax. There have been too many mistakes as of late," and he turned to give me a look, which I merely ignored, "and I think a break might be a balm for your minds as well as your bodies. I will keep you informed on the status of our injured comrades and any news about the incident that occurred. Three days, do you hear? And that is an order."

The other men let out a huge cheer, and waved their hands. I merely sat there. A leave? Since when did any Roman care about the mental health of a group of Sarmatian conscripts?

Tristan was the only other one not smiling and talking. He was still, chewing on some bread, and staring first at Arthur, then at me. After a few minutes of this, I mouthed a snappy "what?" at him, and he shrugged. That damn man. Almost as infuriating as Arthur.

Our commander proceded to give us a few details in reference to the mission we'd just returned from – one which I didn't care to hear repeated, and then dismissed us, telling us he was proud to be associated with such fine and noble knights as ourselves, and to please enjoy the few days off. He would be keeping in close contact with the garrison doctor, and would expect to see us bright and early on the morning of the fourth day.

He turned to me as the group broke up, and opened his mouth to speak. I brushed past him, and made my way to the south side of the wall, and the last place he'd think to look for me.

The little chapel was empty, as I'd expected. Not many people came here, a few of the Roman soldiers, and Arthur of course.

He'd had it built a few months back, and decorated on the outside with a garden lovely enough for me to realize it. Britain is an ugly place, but the flowers and plants they have here almost make up for it.

Heather and roses fought for space with evergreens and some type of oak, and as I walked down the path, past the little cememtary, I went over the events of the last few days. A massive fucking debacle, is what it actually was.

Villagers near Bodaciam had requested that we come and investigate some recent happenings around their township – a large number of animal mutilations had been ocurring, and the village elders were afraid that it was Woads sneaking south of the Wall.

Arthur was afraid that Merlin might be getting cocky, so out we went.

No Merlin, no Woads.

But plenty of dead animals and scared townspeople.

Arthur had stationed us at opposite ends of the village, him, myself, and Dagonet at one end, and Gawain, Galahad, and Tristan at the other. Bors led a larger group that stayed in the village itself.

We waited up for hours, and saw nothing. I had begun to get punchy by the time the moon rose fully, and had just grudgingly relegated the watch to Dagonet, when we had heard a distinctive rustling.

The moon was covered by a cloud at that precise moment, and the wind picked up, a strange mist rolling in with it.

"Lancelot! Dagonet!" I heard Arthur's voice call, but for the life of me could not see him.

A sudden noise to my left, and I heard Arthur's horse's high pitched whinney. I drew my blades from my back, and crouched, ready for whatever was to come at us.

Unfortunately for me, I never saw it.

An arrow whizzed past my ear, and thunked into my horse's flank, promptly making him rear, which in turn made his backend shove me into a tree, hard.

"Arthur! Damn it!" I yelled for our commander, but only heard the distinct ring of Excalibur as it was drawn from the sheath at Arthur's side.

The mist crawled up my legs, cloying and choking. I began to cough, and managed to push my horse away from me.

"Dagonet? Arthur!" I shouted again, and jumped as another arrow sped past me. "Where are these things coming from?" I muttered to myself.

Something tackled my legs from behind, and I slammed forward, dropping my swords in order to save my teeth from being smashed into the ground.

Unfortunately, it didn't save my head from smacking into a tree root.

I knew nothing until cold water hit me in the face from Arthur's canteen. I sputtered, sitting up.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" I snarled, then looked up. Arthur was standing over me, a worried expression on his lined face. His eyebrows looked like one long line, they were so close together.

"What happened?" I asked. He shook his head, and Dagonet appeared behind him, silent and carrying my swords and his battle axe.

"We never saw anything," Arthur answered. "We were ovecome within seconds – and you apparently were knocked out."

"My horse was shot," I said, grunting as I stood, accepting Arthur's hand up. "He backed me into a tree."

Looking around, I realized that the night was clear again, and there was no trace of mist.

"What – where did the mist go?" I asked. The stars were so visible it was as if you could reach up and pluck them from the sky.

"Don't know," Dagonet answered, "but there was something else in it."

"Oh, gods," I had groused, "Dagonet – please don't start that whole devil ghosts thing." I whistled for my horse, and a few moments later, he trotted up. I had petted him, and leaned down, checking his leg. One arrow still pierced it, and I steadied him, pulling it out quickly. He jerked, and made a high pitched noise of pain.

"Sorry, boy," I murmured, and examined the thing.

Short, smallish. The hilt was feathered, but not with anything I recognized. The shaft also had runes carved into it.

"Armor piercing," Arthur said from next to me, and I nodded.

"Not Roman. Not Woad either."

I nodded again, turning the thing over in my hand.

He reached for it, and I huffed slightly when he took it. "What do you make of this, Dagonet?" he asked the other man.

"Not anything I've seen before. We should ask the villagers."

They both gathered up their returning mounts, and got up into the saddle, with me still standing there, sulking.

"Coming?" Arthur asked me, and I snorted, then patted my horse's nose. "I'll have to walk – I want to spare him for the ride back to the wall."

Arthur had held out his hand, and I rolled my eyes, but mounted up behind him anyway. No need to walk if I could ride.

We returned to the village, my horse trotting gamely behind us, and Dagonet went to recall the others.

By the time they had returned, Arthur and the elders were in deep discussion about the arrow and the 'things' we had encountered in the forest.

I stood for a while, watching, then moved over to where Dagonet was standing quietly, examining his battle axe for nicks.

"What do you really make of it?" I asked him under my breath.

He looked at me, and finally shrugged. "Not something you care to hear," he answered simply, and went back to his axe.

I rounded on him, suddenly angry. What with Arthur taking the weapon away from me, and my foolishness in getting hit in the head, I was a trifle irritated.

"Dagonet – I am not a child. My horse was the one who was injured with the damn thing in the first place. Now tell me, what do you think?"

He cocked his head. "Ghosts. I told you. This island is full of ancient history, and ancient hurts. It's not unheard of for things of that heavy emotion to take form."

"Bah," I spouted, knowing as well as he did the stories of our peoples and our childhood, "old tales from old women who had nothing better to do than scare children. I cannot believe Arthur would just take the thing from me."

Dagonet shoved himself off the wall, and began to stride away. He turned once, saying, "Don't behave like a child if you wish not to be treated as such."

And he was off again, moving to where Arthur and the other were still talking.

I spat on the ground, and let my anger stew.

A few hours later, and I had been dozing off and on against the wall where Dagonet had left me. A gentle hand shook me, and I opened my eyes, yawning.

"What?" I said, my voice cracking from lack of usage. Arthur squatted next to me.

"It's almost dawn, my friend. Time to return to the wall soon."

"Do you have anything?" I asked him. He nodded once, then frowned. "Perhaps. The locals think this thing is Druidic." He waved the arrow about.

"Druids? Here?" I laughed incredulously. "Arthur, they haven't dared venture from the forests of the north for some time now. Lucky for them – supposedly they haven't been any kind of force to be reckoned with for years. We could take them with hardly any fuss."

Arthur shook his head, and stood, as I did. "You are sometimes so naïve it's shocking, Lancelot."

I bristled again with that comment. "And what do you mean by that?" I hissed dangerously. I was still in no mood to be trifled with, and Arthur had a way of pushing my buttons that worked every time.

"How long have you fought with me? And how many times have we easily triumphed?" he asked, his hands on his hips.

"Long enough," I answered, "…and I can't remember."

"Exactly. There has never been a time when we knew precisely what to do, or were perfectly prepared. There will never be a time like that either. You will get yourself seriously hurt if you believe anyone is able to be taken easily. Never underestimate your enemy. Ever. The second you do, you will be dead."

He turned from me, and made his way toward the other knights, who had begun showing up with their mounts ready.

Tristan had brought my horse, who had been taken care of by the townsfolk as best as he could be, and I stalked after Arthur, quickly getting up into the saddle.

"Knights – back to the wall. We will regroup, and make an informed decision on what to do next," Arthur had commanded, and we had obeyed.

That night, pressing on, we had been riding single file, the moon bright and so cheerful as to make one annoyed.

And there it was, that strange rustling, and in two seconds we were all surrounded by the choking mist again.

I swore, and unsheathed my swords, the others doing the same from the sounds of metallic zings around me.

My panic rose when I couldn't see Arthur, who had been straight in front of me. I am his second – it is my job to protect his back.

Aside from the fact that he was my closest friend, and I would die before I let something happen to him.

I had called for him, and receiving no answer, made for the back end of his horse, which I could barely see in the fog.

I stopped when I reached the animal, and paused for a moment, listening for any sound.

Things suddenly clawed at my legs, making my knees buckle. "Ow, damn it!" I yelled, and hacked at what felt like hands grasping my ankles.

I heard various screams from the immediate vicinity, and recognized Galahad's voice. I struggled mightily against the hands, desire to help the youngest of us strong in me.

"Don't panic, Galahad, I'm coming," I shouted bravely. I was trying, at any rate.

The hands or whatever they were had climbed higher, and I could actually feel them inside my armor, which was slightly terrifying.

"What in the bloody hell is going on?" I screamed, trying to cut something with my blades…anything.

I couldn't move. I felt like I was trapped in quicksand, and was rapidly losing my fight.

Something pried my swords out of my hands, and I twisted, desperate to get away.

A cool finger touched my cheek, and I let out a screech that sounded more like a wounded animal than a man.

I was shoved back against a tree trunk, and something materialized out of the mist in front of me.

I had to blink rapidly to clear my confused head, and still it was there.

"Wha," I started, and it grinned. I screamed again, and it's death cold fingers grasped the sides of my head, and slammed it backwards.

My skull met the tree with a mighty thunk, and I saw nothing but stars as I sunk to the ground, the sight of Arthur suddenly appearing through the mist possibly imagined.

Then I saw nothing but the insides of my own eyelids.

The sound of my own coughing was what woke me up.

"Gods damn it!" I yelled, and coughed some more. I was tired of waking up flat on my back, my head in pain. And no dead enemy to show for it.

Aside from the fact that I had actually screeched when that…whatever had touched me. Not very knightlike. Or even very manly.

I swore again, and stood. Then blanched.

I ran to the huddle of knights who were standing around Galahad, who was laying prone on Gawain's knees.

"What happened?" I demanded, and Arthur turned to me. I hadn't seen that angry of an expression on our commander's face in a long time. It was frightening, and it in turn made me angry, in that I hadn't been there to protect him from whatever turned his normal kind countenance into one of rage.

"We don't know. The mist seperated us. All I heard was his scream," Arthur said, flat and toneless. Oh, he was angry, all right.

I looked down at Galahad, who had a huge gash across his forehead, and was still bleeding profusely from a cut on his forearm. Gawain was trying to staunch it, but it was leaking still.

"Arthur," I said, "let me ride ahead. See if I can't find out what this thing is."

Dagonet didn't look up from where he kneeling next to the injured knight, but spoke. "Devil ghosts."

"Dag," I spat, "how many enemies have we fought who could melt in and out of shadows? The Woads are experts at it. There are no ghosts. You are simply taken with tales from our childhood. I saw it. It has a face…and hands. If it has those, I can fight it. Let me go, Arthur."

Arthur was shaking his head, and I opened my mouth to argue with him. He beat me to it.

"No, Lancelot. I will not have any of my men alone. We don't know what this thing is…Woad, Druid, ghost," he had held up his hand when I made a pffft noise, "…whatever it is, it's obviously dangerous. You stay here with us."

I grumbled loudly, then had stalked away, my swords resheathed. That felt wrong.

This whole situation felt wrong. And no matter Arthur's concern for our safety, I knew I was right. Someone had to find something out. We were only a day's ride from the wall…I could find my way back there blindfolded. I wouldn't be harmed.

Arthur was busy with Galahad and the others. He wouldn't notice if I just slipped away.

So I did.

And had found…nothing.

Not one Woad, not one legion out for patrol. Not any ghosts, either, or any evidence that some strange enemy had been through this way.

The only things I found were signs that other riders had passed by, horse droppings and the remains of scattered campfires.

I also found that Arthur had noticed I'd gone, and got an earful when they caught up to me, almost all the way back to the garrison.

He actually had the gall to lecture me on safety in numbers. I had laughed in his face, and he had turned bright red, then turned on his heel, striding away, muttering about disrespect and misjudgement.

I didn't even look at the son of a bitch until the meeting after we had arrived, and Arthur had given us the few days leave.

The chapel garden was quiet, and peaceful. The one or two monks we had around the fort had lit incense, and I could smell it vaguely as they had also left the door open.

The day was rapidly coming to a close, and what did I have to show for it? A bump on my forehead, an equally large one on the back of my head, and wounded pride.

I hadn't even done my job correctly. Hadn't protected Arthur, hadn't helped Galahad, hadn't found anything new out.

"Fuck," I said angrily, and slumped onto a bench. I splayed my legs out in front of me, and contemplated my boots, which would be about ready for the trash heap soon.

Tapping my toes together, I went over the reasoning behind my slipping away from the group, and the validity of it.

I didn't like having to disobey Arthur, but, damn it, the man had been wrong. Someone had needed to ride ahead, even if they hadn't found anything.

I knew Dagonet really believed in those things. Devil Ghosts. He must have had one hell of an upbringing.

Me, on the other hand…no. Stories to scare little children into behaving. I hadn't believed those tales from basically the time I could walk.

But, in as much as I had been right about our enemies abilities to melt away or disappear like magic, I knew that it hadn't been Woads.

I had seen those things faces.

Or rather, lack of faces.

I shivered, and spun when the crunch of boots on the walk dragged me from the unpleasant memory of our attackers…and sighed when I saw who it was.

I rested my chin in my hand, and didn't look at him when Arthur sat down next to me.

He had devested himself of his heavy field armor, and replaced his riding clothes for ones like mine. Excalibur still hung from it's tooled scabbard at his side, where it always rested.

"Last place I expected to find you," he said calmly. I nodded.

"That was the general idea," I answered.

"Lancelot," he sighed, staring at me. His eyes burned a hole in my shoulder, a feeling he was very adept at getting from me, and I finally turned my own to his.

"You sulk too much," he finished finally. I gave him my best 'who, me?' look and cocked my head to the side. He had a new bruise across his cheek.

"Who did this?" I said, gently tracing it with my fingertip.

"Bors. He gets a bit rowdy when he and I 'disagree' sometimes."

"Indeed. And what was he disagreeing about?"

"…you. He thought I shouldn't have been so hard on you in front of the others."

"Ah," I said noncommittaly. "And what did you say?"

"I said that you were disobeying a direct order and had to be disciplined. Then he said you did what any one of you would have done, and then – well, you see the result."

"Hmm," I made a noise in my throat, and the corners of his mouth went down. "Lancelot – you have to understand – and I know you do after so many years. I can't have my knights going off willy-nilly in direct disobediance to me. What if you had been hurt like Galahad? What if we couldn't find you? And what did you discover? Tell me."

I sighed, then mumbled.

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."

"Blast it, Arthur, nothing, all right? But there was no way to know that for sure. What if I had found something? And I may still, if you'll let me go out again."

"You want to go out on your leave? You?"

I crossed my arms, and narrowed my eyes at him dangerously. "What does that mean?"

Arthur shook his head, backpeddling quickly. "Don't misunderstand me. I mean, why would you want to spend what may well be your only time off for some time doing reconaissance work?"

I shrugged. "Call it curiosity. Call it doggedness, or pride. I can't let something beat me twice and not even see its face, Arthur! You must let me do this."

I didn't mention I did see its face. Shuddering lightly, I turned to face him completely, knowing if I seemed open he might trust me more readily. Not that I had to use any tricks. The man would trust me with his life. And he should. He was my closest ally, and friend, and closest thing I had to a…partner in this world.

I wondered briefly if one day our closeness would transmute into something else. I was curious enough to try and stay around to find out.

Maybe after this – whatever it was, I could investigate this new line of thinking further. I swayed slightly closer to him, and shut my eyes, just feeling his presence.

And Arthur was the only man who wouldn't laugh and ask me what the hell I was doing. He just sat there, and let me be.

At last, he put a hand on my arm, and I opened my lids, smiling.

"I will allow it. On one condition."

I groaned, and rolled my eyes. "Very well, commander. What is this 'condition' you require?"

"I'm going with you."

I started, shocked. "Arthur, for love of the gods, no! You never get any down time…please, for my sake, if not your own, take it."

"You need backup, Lancelot. I don't trust anyone else to watch out for you," he said earnestly, then looked away, his cheeks turning pink. I raised an eyebrow. This was definitely getting interesting.

"Oh?" I said, turning on the charm full force. He laughed, cleared his throat, and moved away from me on the bench.

Eyeing me from his side of the cold marble, he said, "…and don't try flirting with me. I know you too well."

Damn it.

I sighed. "I appreciate the sentiment, Arthur, I do. But…you don't take time off. I've seen you run so ragged your clothing hangs off you, and you have bags the size of Bors' gut under your eyes. Please, Arthur," I pleaded with him, putting a hand out, "take a rest. You deserve it."

He squeezed my hand gently, then let go.

I felt slightly colder at the lack of touch, and wondered at my own sudden reaction to his presence.

"When do we leave?" he said, not looking at me.

"Commander," I started, then broke off. I shook my head.

"Very well. Tomorrow at dawn."

He stood, and smiled at me, touching his right fist to his left shoulder, the old Roman salute he only used for people he respected and cared for.

It was the first time he had done it to me, and horrifyingly, I felt a lump rise in my throat, and my eyes burn.

"Goodnight, Lancelot. Sleep well, friend," and he turned, walking away quickly before I could say anything.

I stood, and watched him walk away, the long sword of his father swinging at his side, his step measured and sure.

What a burden he carried. Always. And how grateful I was to not be in his shoes.

And how much I realized I really did love him.

"Goodnight, brother," I whispered, and made my own way to my rooms.

I had a feeling I was going to have a long night of contemplation ahead of me.

end part one.